Thus he had sneeringly dispensed
with Gerald; thus he had shouldered Fane and Harmon out of his way when
they objected to the purchase of Neergard's acreage adjoining the
Siowitha preserve, and its incorporation as an integral portion of the
club tract; thus he was preparing to rid himself of Ruthven for another
reason. But he was not yet quite ready to spurn Ruthven, because he
wanted a little more out of him--just enough to place himself on a
secure footing among those of the younger set where Ruthven, as hack
cotillon leader, was regarded by the young with wide-eyed awe.
Why Neergard, who had forced himself into the Siowitha, ever came to
commit so gross a blunder as to dragoon, or even permit, the club to
acquire the acreage, the exploiting of which had threatened their
existence, is not very clear.
Once within the club he may have supposed himself perpetually safe, not
only because of his hold on Ruthven, but also because, back of his
unflagging persistence, back of his determination to shoulder and push
deep into the gilded, perfumed crush where purse-strings and morals were
loosened with every heave and twist in the panting struggle around the
raw gold altar--back of the sordid past, back of all the resentment, and
the sinister memory of wrongs and grievances, still unbalanced, lay an
enormous vanity.
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